Regrets
by Sergeant Toast
Summary: Hawke writes Fenris a letter about the aftermath and her feelings. Rated T for a veeeery slight suggestive theme. f!MageHawke/Fenris, some Aveline/Donnic mentioned like a "hey! bye!" kind of deal.


_**A/N: To be honest, I was bored at school two days ago, so I whipped out a notebook and just began writing after I thought to myself, "What would Kestrel Hawke do if...?" because, well, Kestrel Hawke is the f!MageHawke I am currently replaying Dragon Age II as. Enjoy!**_

_**Warning: If you haven't beaten the game, there are spoilers. Just so you know.**_

_**Disclaimer: Dragon Age belongs to Bioware. The characters, the places... even Isabela and Fenris. -sigh- Oh, and Gideon Emery's amazing voice belongs to him. Gah.**_

Fenris:

I bet you that Isabela writes odd stories about us, like she did with Aveline and Donnic. That's just me attempting to break the ice, though; attempting to make your beautiful green eyes light up in surprised laughter. You always seemed so shocked when I made you laugh. I suspect you never expected to be around a mage that made jokes, let alone one that made jokes that were even close to being worthy of being laughed at. I never expected to hear your laugh when we first met; you didn't seem like the humourous sort. I was glad when I found out you were, once you let your guard down a little bit; perhaps that's why I never heard you laugh around Anders.

Contrary to what you may be thinking, I didn't write this to reminisce. Not really. Mostly to give you an update on what's happened now that the mages have been freed.

People are scared, Fenris. That's why I had to leave. Those who are afraid seem to be particularly fond of attempting to take it out on me. I am the Champion of Kirkwall no longer. Just another citizen; just another of those apostate mages running about. One who did nothing but bad. Some prefer to call me the Destroyer of Kirkwall. Maybe you were right. Maybe all I've accomplished by trying to do good is... nothing. It can't have been something, if things are worse than before. Like you said, for things to change, people must change - for the better. If the mages want to take over, they will, and it'll just be a reverse of the society we tried to demolish. Well... I tried to demolish; you were for the templars. Perhaps you were right again - perhaps we do need them. Some order seems much better than none at all.

Most mages have turned to blood magic: to prove their power, I'm guessing. There are no more templars. Even Carver is dead. Uncle Gamlen didn't survive the destruction of the city. And, as you know, Mother died before this turned into a full-out disaster.

You? You are dead because of a bitter disagreement. I'm writing to the dead man I love as if he can hear me, as if he can read this. You're dead because I killed you. Set you on fire, then froze you. To death. I could see you glaring at me. You were refusing to scream, refusing to give in to the pain. It hurt, you know. Seeing those angry, green eyes of yours and knowing it was me their fury was directed at. I know, I know; I should stop whining - I'm not the dead one here. Excuse my brooding, but sometimes I feel like I am. Like I'm drowning further and further as time goes on, and I don't know how to even begin to resurface. Like there's someone behind me, knife in hand, waiting for me to let my guard down so they can finish me off.

Varric stayed in Kirkwall. He insisted someone had to be around to tell my story - the right way. I wonder if he'll make sure to put in the bit that there was no actual sweeping involved. I wonder if there's actually someone who will want to hear my story - the real one, not the one about me killing a dragon naked and wielding nothing but a wooden spoon.

Isabela took Castillon's ship and sailed off - maybe to Rivain, maybe to Ferelden. I didn't ask. She seemed disappointed that I wouldn't join her like I'd promised all those years ago. I guess I just want to sever ties with my life in Kirkwall. Except for you. You're the one person I wish I could take with me - but you're also the one person I can't.

It turns out that Merrill's clan left Sundermount. She went to their old campsite and decided to stay. I know you didn't like her, and I know you hate that I helped her restore the mirror, but it was what she wanted. I let people make their own mistakes, Fenris, and if I'm still around if things go wrong, I help pick up the pieces.

It's hard to believe Anders is dead. He was my friend, you know. But I suppose he was dead long before I forced a dagger throat his heart. Justice/Vengeance had taken over his mind, his soul. I think they had a good hold on him before he even met us. So maybe you were right. Again. I remember you telling me that he was bad news, but I, of course, didn't listen. Maybe if I'd killed him when he seemed like he was going to hurt that girl, none of this would have happened. Maybe you wouldn't be dead. Maybe I would be able to talk to you instead of writing a letter to a dead man.

I think Donnic and Aveline stayed in Kirkwall, as well. I wish they wouldn't have. Aveline said she was pregnant, and Kirkwall is probably the least safe place in the Free Marches right now - not that I believe Starkhaven or anywhere else is really a walk in Hightown. I should have advised they go to Ferelden - Redcliffe or Denerim or just... somewhere safer for Aveline to have a child. I'd never really thought about children before. If we had gotten over the whole ordeal about freeing mages, I think I'd have liked to have yours. Your child, I mean, not your mage. Who knows, though? Maybe if we had a child, it would be a mage. I know you wanted a family, Fenris. I'm just sorry that I couldn't give it to you. And that you're so damn impossible sometimes.

Did you really have to wait three years to tell me you still remembered that night? I still remember it - and it kills me. I remember how you were so careful, so gentle, as if you thought I might break, but yet so passionate I wanted to pull your lips to mine and not stop kissing you for another year. I remember wondering how a man so used to fighting, killing, and roughness could be so careful and tender. It sent shivers up and down my spine - lovely, wonderful, delightful shivers. I still get them, if I think about it. So I try not to unless it's one of those days I'm dying to feel your touch, to hear your voice. Those days happen too often for my liking; makes it hard to concentrate.

If there's one thing out of this blighted letter that reaches you, let it be this: why? Why did you let me kill you? I know you could've stopped me; you're much stronger than I am, and when you ran at me, you were much slower than usual. Maybe you thought I wouldn't notice. I did. I could never read your mind, Fenris, and I have to know. I need peace of mind, and you're the only one who can give it to me, because, you know what?

Things are just as Mother said - I am alone.

**- Kestrel Hawke**


End file.
